Sinead O'Connor - Faith and Courage

O'Connor's Pop Therapy Session

a review by Jeffrey Overstreet

Sinead had mad a career of translating her angst and her rage into transcendant rock music. 

Her distinctly Irish voice got our attention with a shocking blast of rage against religion, against chauvenism, and against England in "The Lion and the Cobra".  This record revealed a singer who could hold our attention from an intimate whisper to a banshee-like roar.  She followed that with a raw, experimental record called "I Do Not Want What I Have Not Got".  This was Sinead's defining record, showing great maturity in her songwriting, in her control of that unforgettably powerful voice.  And yes, she was still angry.  In ten songs, she declared her independence, setting herself up against tradition and history as an Irish woman who would not be run over by the church, by arrogant men, or by society.  And then came 1994's beautiful, melodic  "Universal Mother", in which she put her prevalent outrage behind her and found new artistic maturity.  The songs now had gentleness, contentment.  They expressed an understanding of love that was beyond obsession, anger, infatuation; now there was generosity, tenderness, forgiveness.   The 1996 EP called "Gospel Oak" continued to reveal a softening spirit, still sticking to her guns, but slower to anger and fullof grace. 

Now comes "Faith and Courage" after a long silence.  It's a bad step.   Musically, it's a cluttered mess.   And the subject, above all, is Sinead herself...and Sinead only.  I can't imagine another singer doing a cover of most of these songs, because the lyrics point too specifically to her own unusual experiences and views.  While commercially she's in a stronger place, she sounds more insecure than ever.  This is the cry of someone who had had her scabs pulled off, who has old wounds bleeding freely again.  As a result, the album is full of angry declarations of independence, justifications of past decisions, and assurances that she's "fine".

Often Sinead's lyrics have reached the level of classic Irish poetry.  This time it just sounds like she came out of a therapy session, eager to share with us a confusing mix of psychobabble, new age lingo, and assertions of her recently aquired ordination to the priesthood. (!!)  Never to avoid controversy, she was recently ordained a priest by a radical corner of Catholicism, which she promptly followed by announcing her homosexuality.  And now this album is full of Rastafarianism.  She seems so eager to preach at us about her opinions and decisions that there's no room to contemplate, no room for music or art.

In "The Lamb's Book of Life", she actually sings these words: 
Words can't express how sorry I am
If I ever caused pain to anybody
I just hope that you can show compassion
And love me enough to just please listen.
This bothers me.  It's an apology, but phrased so as to make us feel like villains if we aren't thrilled about it.  Maybe it's not lack of compassion that drives me to turn the music off.  Maybe it's a desire for music about something other than her crisis of the week.

Some are calling this Sinead's "contemporary Christian album", as she makes many references to her affection for Christ and her desire for her fellow Irish to "get their names back in the Book of Life of the Lamb".  But her religious exhortations sound militant, holier-than-thou, just the sort of thing that Christian pop has done for years to alienate secular audiences. 

To make matters more disappointing, she's lost touch with the sort of music that best facilitates her voice.  "Faith and Courage" was overproduced by an array of producers.  Some of this music sounds borrowed from Annie Lennox  solo albums.  (Dave Stewart is one of the producers.)  They lack freshness and creativity, settling for  mid-to-late-80s pop sound, which trivializes her lyrics and crowds her vocals.  Her strength has always been her voice, the soul of Irish anger, beauty, mystery, and independence.  Here, she's self-consciously Irish, adding tin flutes to otherwise generic keyboards in songs that are crowded with extraneous special effects.  She's buried in the mix.

In "The Healing Room", she makes us privy to her "inner children", a host of little Irish girls spouting daily affirmations like "We love you lots and lots and lots."  "Dancing Lessons", her collaboration with Wyclef Jean, is dumbfounding, with its stale Bruce Hornsby piano flourishes and a drumbeat that sounds like it came off a $99 Casio beginner keyboard; even as a B-side it would have seemed a waste.  This is hardly the stuff to invite contemplation.  And "Daddy I'm Fine" is downright self-indulgent, as she retraces her own musical career and glorifies her own rebellion in hopes of deflecting doubts about her peace of mind.  

There are standout tracks.  "No Man's Woman" is an unforgettable, strong rock anthem that stands alongside "Fire on Babylon" as a perfect radio-ready hit.  But again, the lyrics unnecessarily assert that she's not a pushover.  "Emma's Song" sounds like a lovely lullaby outtake from "Universal Mother".  "'Til I Whisper You Something" is an entrancing, ambitious number built on an Irish folk riff.  But even that sounds familiar... yes, it's the same riff that made "You Made Me the Thief of Your Heart" an astonishing contribution to the "In The Name of the Father" soundtrack. 

Sinead has long been a favorite of mine.  In concert she's as arresting as any artist I've ever seen.  I've enjoyed the restraint of her music, which has given her voice such support.  And I've enjoyed her interaction with history and mythology.  Most of all, I've savored her love songs.  When she serves the music and is drawn up into it, it becomes powerful, speaking to the audience.  But when she's self-aware and defensive, all we walk away thinking about is Sinead herself and her various soapbox sermons.   On "Faith and Courage", she just sounds like she wants us to like her.